So About the Money

by Cathy Perkins

  Holly tugged her briefcase trolley onto the entry walkway. She wasn’t stupid. Even as she’d insisted at the hospital, the police station, It could be an accident, she’d tried to figure out what she’d done, who she’d made nervous enough for someone to lash out at her.

  The name that kept surfacing wasn’t Alex, Frank, Creepy Security Guy, or even Lee Alders.

  It was Tim.

  She didn’t want to believe Tim would deliberately hurt her.

  Maybe it really had been a drunk driver. The reporter who’d shown up at the library while she wasn’t paying attention had said so on television last night. The news snippet had generated a flood of calls—to her and, according to JC, to the police. So far, none of the tips had led anywhere, but it was simply a matter of time before the police found the truck and its driver.

  The outpouring of concern proved one thing. Alex was wrong. She did let people into her life. She had friends. Lots of them.

  She tugged the door handle with her fingertips.

  His cruel comments still hurt.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Back pressed against the building’s glass door, Holly struggled through the entrance. She eyed Desert Accounting’s office, then turned toward Stevens Ventures. As she wrestled the cart past the door, Brea jumped to her feet and hurried around her desk. “My God, what happened?”

  “It looks worse than it is.”

  Brea elbowed her out of the way and tugged the trolley inside. “In that case, are you lost? Tim and Alex are supposed to meet you at your office.”

  “I know. I need to talk to Lillian for a minute. Okay if I leave this here?”

  “Sure, I’ll keep an eye on it.”

  Holly nodded her thanks and crossed the lobby. Without the impediment of the cart, movement was easier. She rolled her shoulders, shrugging off residual stiffness. Midway across the room, she stopped and turned. “I meant to ask you earlier. Did a dark haired guy—tall and sorta scary looking—ever come in here asking for Marcy?”

  Brea shook her head. “Who is he?”

  “I’m not sure but the manager at the Tom-Tom Casino said his security manager had started dating Marcy. If it’s who I think it is, and if he really was dating her, he’d have shown up here.”

  Repeatedly.

  “If someone like that came here, especially if he asked about Marcy, we’d have all heard about it. I can ask around though.”

  “If anybody remembers it, please let me know.”

  “I’d rather tell that hunky detective. We are talking about a possible suspect for Marcy’s killer.” Brea twitched an eyebrow and smiled.

  Her brain/mouth filter trapped, He’s mine.

  Whoa. No he isn’t.

  Instead she said, “Okay.”

  She headed toward the payroll clerk’s office. If Creepy Security Guy was Frank and he really was seeing Marcy, he’d have made a nuisance of himself at her workplace. Someone would’ve noticed—and mentioned—him hanging around. Then again, the casino manager could’ve gotten their dating wrong.

  Lillian lifted her head when Holly stepped into the office, apparently catching her motion at the doorway. With furrowed eyebrows, her fingers rolled through “What happened?” She pointed at Holly’s bandaged hands and temple.

  “I fell.” She didn’t want to dredge up the details. Dodging those explanations was one of the reasons she’d ditched her clients today.

  Lillian watched her with worried eyes. “If you want to talk about…” Her hands finished in a vague, encompassing gesture.

  “Really. I fell in a parking lot.” Holly briefly held up her bandaged palm, then continued. “Road rash.”

  The payroll clerk nodded, as if she still believed an evil boyfriend had taken his fists to her.

  “Earlier this week, you said you wanted to talk to me.” Holly’s hands were stiff and the bandages across her palms made her gestures awkward.

  Lillian glanced at the doorway, as if she didn’t want anyone to see them together.

  Holly took a seat with a dismissive wave. As if anyone in the office could handle more than basic signs. They certainly weren’t going to be overheard, especially if she simply signed and didn’t speak aloud. “Is it something about Marcy? Tim?”

  Lillian’s gestures looked tentative. “The Southridge building. Tim hired a lot more people than he usually does.”

  Holly waited for Lillian to continue. “And,” she prompted.

  “We’ve never used this many people before.”

  “It’s a big project.” Holly didn’t want to jump to conclusions, even with her internal monitor screaming warnings about all of Tim’s business. “Is there something specific making you uncomfortable?”

  Lillian chewed on her lip for a moment, then signed, “Marcy filled out all the paperwork.”

  Holly fidgeted with the stapler, trying to think of a reasonable explanation. Finally, she forced her hands through the gestures. “Maybe the workers needed help with the forms. Or didn’t speak English. Or…”

  Lillian again glanced at the door. “A lot of them used the same post office box for an address.”

  “Damn.” Holly’s shoulders sagged as she considered the implications. Marcy, honey, what did you get yourself into?

  The next thought was equally unsettling. If hiring the excess workers was fraud, was Marcy the instigator or merely a co-conspirator? Had she invented employees, looking to steal money, or had Tim put her up to padding the payroll to remove excess cash from the company accounts?

  Lillian’s expression probably mirrored hers. Worry. Concern. Hoping somehow there was another reason.

  Alrighty. Holly squared her shoulders, even though it hurt in more than the physical sense. If something illegal was going on, she needed proof. Pasting on what she hoped was a reassuring smile, she signed, “Do you have a list of the extra employees? And a copy of the paperwork?”

  “I’ll get it to you,” Lillian promised.

  “One more question. Did Marcy and Tim ever…” She couldn’t remember the sign for “flirt” so she finger-spelled it.

  Lillian gestured, not understanding.

  She was running out of time to be circumspect. If Tim was responsible for last night’s truck incident, she wanted to know where—and how—to watch her back. “Did you ever see them act like they were more than friends?”

  “They never hugged or kissed, but there were signs.” The expression on Lillian’s face might’ve been dismay or disappointment. “Looks, smiles, comfort in each other’s personal space.”

  Of course, Lillian had noticed the body language. More than most people, she was attuned to that layer of communication. “You didn’t mention it to the detective.”

  “He didn’t ask about them, only if someone would hurt Marcy. Tim would never hurt her.”

  Holly wasn’t so sure about that. Lillian’s hands moved slowly. “I miss Marcy. I still expect to look up and see her.”

  “Me, too.” Holly let her expression say the silent part. That she hoped they were both wrong about Marcy’s involvement in whatever was happening at Southridge.

  ~$~

  “Well, aren’t you Ms. Popular this week?” Tracey beamed at Holly once she managed to wrestle the trolley into Desert Accounting’s office. A vase of roses graced the corner of the receptionist’s desk.

  “For me?” Surely Alex wouldn’t spring for flowers two days in a row. The first bouquet had surprised her. Two seemed excessive, even for him.

  “They came this morning. Open the card. Who are they from?” Tracey extended a white florist’s envelope.

  Holly fumbled with the small card until Tracey grabbed it and extracted the note.

  “To second chances.” Tracey peered over her reading glasses. “What does that mean?”

  She gave the receptionist a perplexed look. “I’m not sure.”

  A second chance with who? Alex? Her heart skipped a beat. JC?

  She cautiously peeked into her college memory file. Had JC ever
sent her flowers? She couldn’t remember, and she had no idea what kind of dating moves he currently used.

  “There’s no name.” Tracey flipped the card front to back. “Alex? Or someone new?”

  The receptionist’s eyes held an avid gleam as she sensed the possibility of juicy details.

  “I don’t know.”

  Was JC really looking for a second chance? Showing up at the library last night, that hadn’t been police work.

  Or manipulation.

  Was it?

  Could he have faked the way he’d held her? She’d felt not just safe, but cherished.

  “Let me see the card.” She studied the words. It wasn’t JC’s distinctive handwriting, but he could’ve called in the order. And the cryptic message sounded like something a guy would say when he didn’t want to commit himself.

  Unfortunately, she couldn’t exactly call up JC and ask if the flowers came from him.

  She sighed with frustration. She really didn’t need another mystery right now.

  ~$~

  Holly had maneuvered the trolley and flowers into her office when she heard her mother’s voice.

  Donna Price burst through the door in a flurry of maternal concern. “I heard about the accident on the news this morning. Are you okay? Why didn’t you call me?”

  “It wasn’t that big a deal,” she began.

  Her mother stared at Holly’s forehead before shifting her attention to her daughter’s hands. “Not that big a deal?”

  “It looks worse than it is.”

  Donna stepped closer, then brushed back Holly’s hair. “I was worried sick when I heard. I called, but your phone went straight to voicemail.”

  “I was exhausted. I didn’t get home until late last night. I needed to sleep, so I turned it off. I let Tracey know I’d be late.”

  Her mother’s lips narrowed just a tiny bit and Holly realized calling Tracey and not her mother was probably a strategic error.

  “Well, I hope there is a special spot in hell reserved for drunk drivers.” Her mother crossed her arms in universal parental disapproval mode. “Especially ones who hit and run.”

  Holly did a double-take. She could count the number of times she’d heard her mother curse on one hand.

  “I nearly dropped my coffee cup when the news anchor mentioned it this morning.”

  Holly blessed the cameraman, the film editor, and everyone else at the television station involved in the decision to feature Laurie on the stretcher and the smashed-in cars, rather than Holly curled up in JC’s arms. The thought of explaining that little encounter to her friends and mother made her head hurt nearly as much as the blow to her temple.

  “Do the police have any idea who did it?”

  Holly shook her head. JC hadn’t told her much. Fortunately, Shrimp—why couldn’t she remember the guy’s name?—had vanished at some point during the evening, but the Pasco cops had been even less forthcoming than JC. “I’m not sure how much they have to go on.”

  “Maybe they’ll find the car.” Donna’s expression softened. She again stroked Holly’s hair, then cupped her undamaged cheek. “You didn’t have to come in today. We’ll manage.”

  Since when? Holly shook off the grumpy reaction. “It’s sweet of you to be concerned, but really, I’m fine.”

  She moved to her desk and struggled to unstrap her briefcase from the trolley.

  “Let me get that.” Her mother bustled across the office. She removed the satchel from the cart, placed it on the desk, and opened the leather case. The phone rang and she reached across the wooden surface toward the receiver.

  Holly glanced at the caller ID. Tom-Tom Casino. “Let it go to voicemail.”

  Her mother’s surprised expression asked, Are you sure?

  Okay, so it wasn’t her normal operating style, but whatever the caller wanted could wait until Monday. She didn’t want to deal with the casino audit, Peter’s remorse over outing Tim, or Creepy Security Guy today.

  Holly pressed the power button on her computer and logged in. “I’m tired. My hands and knees are scraped and sore. If I get caught up on some paperwork today, I’ll have the weekend to rest and recover. I’ll be good to go on Monday.”

  “Okay.” Feet dragging, her mother headed for the door. “I’m right down the hall if you need anything.”

  “Mom? I mean, Donna?” It felt really weird to call her mother by her first name, even if she was the one who suggested it for “in the office.”

  “Yes?” Donna glanced over her shoulder.

  “What’s going on with you this week? Missing meetings, being so distracted. You’re acting more like yourself today, but…I’ve been concerned.”

  Her mother stepped back into the office and closed the door.

  Holly eyed the closed door and wondered if she was ready to hear whatever her mother planned to say.

  Hands clasped in front of her, Donna seemed to be struggling for words or the right place to start. Finally, she said, “Your father called. Apparently he likes sitting on his behind in the sun.”

  Holly blinked at the tart expression. “And?”

  Donna perched on the edge of the visitor chair. “I had to come to terms with it. Actually face it. Our marriage is over…” She shook her head.

  Holly didn’t know what to say. “Maybe Dad isn’t cut out for monogamy…I mean, this isn’t the first time he’s done this.”

  “Oh, Honey. Don’t blame your father. Well…I do blame him, but his first marriage…they were so young. I’m surprised that one lasted a year. We’ve been married thirty years and as far as I know, this is the first time he’s strayed.”

  “Well, he went big when he did it.” She couldn’t keep the acerbic tone out of her voice.

  “Straight off the deep end.” Donna brushed a hand over the smooth leather of Holly’s briefcase. “Now I’m trying to handling the emotional fallout and deal with calls from the attorneys. Proposals, counterproposals, temporary arrangements. Unraveling a lifetime is rough. Untangling it from a business is a bitch.”

  My God, cursing twice in one day. Is this the “new” Donna Price? Still, at a deeper level, Holly didn’t want to know more about her parents’ marriage. “I’m here if you want to talk.” Please don’t talk to me about Dad. “And Mom, I’m part of this business now.”

  Holly waved a bandaged hand at the office. “I need to know where you’re headed with Desert Accounting. What your plans are, period.”

  “I know. I’ve already dumped so much on you. You’re doing a wonderful job, but if you’re leaving, I have to figure out how to manage on my own. Unless, of course, you want to stay.”

  She traced a finger across the computer keyboard. “I’m thinking about it. Let’s sit down this weekend and brainstorm. My head’s not up to it right this minute.”

  “Of course. Let me know if you need anything today.” Donna rose and hurried out of the office.

  In the vacuum of silence following her mother’s overwhelming energy, Holly dropped the stoic pretense. Shoulders slumped, hands limp, she sat at her desk, ignoring the blinking message light and the prompts from Outlook. Instead, she wondered about Tim and Marcy. Tim was building layers of companies to hide something. Marcy knew about it. Beyond the irregularities in the business, what was happening to the pair on a personal level?

  Whatever they were doing, did Tim have it in him to kill the woman?

  Had Tim been behind the wheel of the old truck at the library?

  She hated feeling this way about a guy she liked. At the beginning of the week—just a few short days ago—she’d told JC everybody liked Tim. He was a fun-loving extrovert.

  The police were keyed on Lee Alders as the prime suspect. Allegedly, he’d killed once to protect a fortune. Nothing would stop him from doing it again.

  She’d never met Alders, but she did not like him. Even if the police couldn’t prove he killed Marcy, another idea occurred to her about getting justice for Marcy and her family. She tapped in the number for La
Boutique.

  “Yessica? Hi, it’s Holly. Do you have time for another question about the day Lee surprised Marcy at work?”

  Anger rippled through Yessica’s voice. “You have more ideas about why that man killed my sister?”

  “It’s more legal stuff. Paperwork.”

  “If you’re wondering about the papers, I think Lee wanted to see her reaction that day, to see her get angry or upset. Or maybe he just wanted to intimidate her like he used to. Or—”

  “Yessica.” She leaned closer to the speaker, as if that would somehow get the woman’s attention. “I want to make sure I understand the situation correctly. Marcy and Lee were separated and not divorced.”

  Holly could envision Yessica puffing up like an angry hen. “That’s right. She hired the attorney to divorce him because he was so cruel to her.”

  “And the papers in the envelope he gave her, the ones that upset her, that was a property settlement offer.”

  “The offer was an insult. He should’ve given her half.” Marcy’s sister sputtered with fury. “He’d calculated what a housekeeper would’ve charged him for all the years they were married.” Yessica’s voice grew louder. “He didn’t even add in what a prostitute would charge.”

  Holly cringed at the mental image the bitter comment evoked.

  “He said the company was his, that Maricella hadn’t done anything to deserve part of the profit. Who did he think managed the rest of his life when he was working? Who kept the other workers from quitting when that man was so awful? She gave everything to him and their marriage, and what did he do? Treated her like…like…”

  She didn’t want Yessica wrapped up in the domestic violence that probably followed Marcy’s benevolent interference in Lee’s business. “Did—”

  “She never had a chance—a life.” Tears thickened Yessica’s voice. “He killed my sister.”

  For a long moment, the only sound was the woman’s sobs.

  Holly’s fingers twisted the phone cord. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”